Madame Parisse by Guy de Maupassant — Read

M. Martini had finished speaking. Mme. Parisse, her walk over, was returning. She passed near me, gravely, her eyes turned to the Alps whose peaks were rosy now in the last rays of the sun.

I wanted to speak to her, the poor unhappy woman who must have thought long of that night of love, now so far in the past, and of the bold man who for one kiss of hers had dared to put a town in a state of siege and jeopardise his whole future.